


Lower I Get, The Higher I'll Climb

by GalaxyAqua



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Non-Binary Frisk, POV Second Person, Trans Mettaton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5473220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyAqua/pseuds/GalaxyAqua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re not the kind of person that people will look at and think ‘that’s a hero’. But Undyne is. Maybe that's what attracted you to her in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lower I Get, The Higher I'll Climb

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from 'Numb' by Marina and the Diamonds!
> 
> uhhh I actually don't know why I wrote this?? but alphyne is always good right? aayyy  
> also idek why I gave mtt a nickname via undyne just roll with it please

You’re no hero, and you know that. You’ve always known that.

You’re not the kind of person that people will look at and think ‘that’s a hero’.

You’ve learnt that over time. You’ve learnt the hard way. Heroes don’t come easy in this world – and when you’re short, blond, geeky, a little chubby and a girl with a serious case of the stutters, well. You’re not the hero the world needs, or wants. You’re not even a person that other people would want around. You’re not the sort of human being that anyone else believes would deserve the time of day.

But you know that. You’ve always known that.

You’ve lived 21 years as just ‘that loser Alphys’; anime nerd, aspiring scientist and ‘tiny chick that’s freakishly obsessed with dinosaurs’ and that’s okay.  

Maybe this is it. Maybe this is your life. Maybe you’ll just trick your way to the top one day.

If anything, you’re smart, at least. And nobody is going to take that big brain of yours away from you.

Maybe you’re no hero now.

But maybe you will be.

As long as you have a dream.

And as long as you’re just a little crafty right along with it.

* * *

 

You go through your crawling college days trying to remain unnoticed. You know that’s not what you need to be a hero – but that’s who you are as a person. You don’t like attention, rather, you love attention only when it’s in the form of praise that you’d never accept. All other times make you feel nervous, or jittery, as if the whole world is aspiring to go against you.

(When you finally think you’re getting the right amount of attention and you’re finally feeling good about yourself, something always happens and you’re back to square one, apologizing for your entire existence all over again.)

(Frankly, it sucks.)

Funnily enough, it’s attention that kick starts your heroic journey in the first place.

Your quest to become the hero you’ve always dreamed of being shows up in the form of a superstar.

You’re still 21 when you finally find the first rung of your figurative ladder – a certain tall, dark and handsome that will guide you up the social rankings, and you cling to him like you’re glued at the hips. You hear words ringing in your ear, but it’s just the names that matter.

Just like superheroes, you think with triumph.

Mettaton and Alphys. Alphys and Mettaton.

He laughs when you say the latter, “Oh no, you see, naturally darling, I have more stage presence. My name always sounds better at the front.”

You just roll your eyes and correct yourself, because that’s just the sort of petty thing a flashy guy like Mettaton would blow up over.

In actual fact, your most heroic deed to date (and you would do many more, you’re sure) was to turn Mettaton – quiet, sad, dejected, solemn young Mettaton – into the flashy guy he’s known to be today, anyway.

You didn’t take him in out of pure selflessness, god no. You needed to survive in this world, and so did he, and in providing for him, he would in turn provide for you. It was fair. It was justice. And when he stepped out of your lab for the last time and cried, “I’m a star,” you had smiled. Mission accomplished.

It’s easy when you overhear the gossip. They think you’re dating. They think you don’t deserve him but they’re all wrong, because you’re not dating in the first place (and why would you, you think, Mettaton is a sweetheart when he wants to be but he’s way too high maintenance 120% of the time).

And uh, you’ve never really told anyone about it, but you kind of don’t dig dudes anyway.

(If anyone so much as calls Mettaton a girl in your presence, you’re ready to sock them in the face, hero goal be damned.)

But even though you’ve done all you’ve done, you soon realize that it’s still not enough.

You’re not pretty, you’re not good with people. You’re not hero material even when you’ve got a sidekick (though Mettaton would protest _loudly_ that he was the star of the show).

You need more. You need to keep climbing that figurative ladder, to become the hero you’ve always dreamed of being.

But one thing stands in your way. It’s cliché, it’s every bad film plot ever, but it’s true.

It’s the _cool kids_.

Undyne, Papyrus and Sans.

* * *

 

The dramatic pause you use for effect is always in full gear when you so much as utter their names. They’re not the _bad kids_ or the _bullies_ or the _teachers’ pets_ or anything like that. They’re just the _cool kids_.

College is a scattered place, but people always find them.

You never go a day without hearing of something cool Undyne has done – they call her ‘the heroine’ and you think that’s really fucking cool but you also want to be called that so you’re conflicted – and it’s probably double the amount of talk surrounding Sans and Papyrus, because they’re just so goddamn spontaneous all the time.

It’s been months and you still hear about their great pillaging of all the skeletons in the science storage shed, and the painstaking effort they did to put clothes on every single one of them – all for the sake of skeletons’ rights or whatever they thought was funny at the time. Papyrus had gone on a rant about how they all deserved to be decent if people were going to look at them all day, because “how would you like it if people with big glasses stared at you naked all day?”

God, you don’t even know.

You’re more amazed they managed to find enough clothes to fit those gangly things, actually.

But the cool kids did a lot of things that amazed you – in both good and not so good ways.

You don’t badmouth them, not really. You’re just in the corner, stutters alive as you monologue to yourself. You talk about how you wish you were one of the cool kids. You wish you could be seen beside Undyne as she flashes those pretty pearly teeth at you, and you wish you could stand between the so-called ‘skelebros’ Papyrus and Sans and laugh at their jokes with them and be the inspiration for their funny stories and just – ugh, everything. You wish you were cooler.

Then the cool kids meet Mettaton, and suddenly you _are._

* * *

 

To be perfectly honest, you had thought once upon a time that Mettaton’s shows wouldn’t make it big. It probably reflects on you as a bad friend, but even if you’re a bad friend, you still saved him and he owes you and you’re his hero – so thus, you’re automatically a good friend no matter what.

But now Mettaton is famous and popular, and you love it. Because it’s a straight express ticket to the top.

At the cool kid table, Papyrus twirls a fork between his fingers and brags that he can outdo Mettaton in each and every one of his – now rather diverse – shows.

Sans rolls his eyes and says, “Go for it,” and Mettaton laughs, that almost metallic laugh he has when he’s not thinking about keeping his own amusement subdued and suspenseful. He seems at ease for the first time in a long while, and you’re glad.

You look at Undyne, who has put her foot down on the table, goading Papyrus on with intense vigor. Your eyes trace the curve and dip of her legs, and the arch of her neck as she throws her head back and guffaws when Papyrus whacks himself in the eye trying to get his pose right.

You almost forget about your dream to become a hero, because you feel like you’re smack dab in the middle of another one.

You wonder why.

“Wasn’t that great, Alphys?” Undyne grins, her vibrant red ponytail bobbing with the movement of her head. “Guess Paps isn’t as flexible as he thought, haha. Looks like Heartbreak’s one of a kind.” She sneers at Mettaton, “Aren’t ya, Heartbreak? Or are you secretly a contortionist or somethin’?”

You feel your heart skip a beat for two whole reasons. One, the way Undyne said your name never failed to amaze you. Two, the way she nicknamed Mettaton made you feel like your creation was special (he’d sob at the thought of being called your creation, but tough luck, superstar), and that maybe – if you adopted him for real, then she would adopt him with you, too.

Imagine that, you and Undyne. Undyne and Alphys. Alphys and Undyne.

Oh, god, it’s too good to be true. But suddenly it’s all clear now.

“I can do a lot of things with my body,” Mettaton replies, in that vague way that has you half-cringing because _why does everything he say have to come out sounding so suggestive._ But you keep quiet, because you’re too busy wondering just how flexible Undyne is on a scale of 1 to Mettaton, and god, from this angle, her muscles just seem to glisten in the sun…

“I don’t wanna know,” Undyne laughs again. “You’re cute, Heartbreak, but I really, _really_ don’t wanna know.”

* * *

 

You dilly-dally for a while. You wonder if you want to be the hero, or if you want to be _with_ the hero nowadays, and it’s a tough circle of thought because you’ve always wanted the spotlight (didn’t you…? You don’t even remember) but – with Mettaton, couldn’t you have… gotten it ages ago? So why didn’t you?

Because you wanted to impress Undyne with your own means?

Maybe, you tell yourself shyly. Just maybe.

(The answer is actually _hell yeah._ )

But you’re a coward through and through so you seek Mettaton’s help anyway.

Not for the spotlight – but for Undyne.

You uh, really, really like her. Or something.

“You want me to ask if she’s into girls?” Mettaton inquires, in the middle of pulling on a pair of ridiculous looking shoes. He says it’s to accentuate his legs. You’ve told him multiple times that with legs like those, accentuation is just to make more people sin. He agrees, and tells you that’s the point.

“Y-ye- no, yeah.” You answer, classic Alphys style. “For uh, scientific reasons.”

“You know you can come clean with me anytime, right?” He raises an eyebrow, “You’re thirsty, Alph, I can see it in your little eyes.”

“W-what?”

“You like her,” He smirks. “You want to smooch her.”

And you want to deny it with all your heart and soul (even though it’s true).

(Also now you’ve got that beautiful mental image and it just won’t go away.)

(You want to kiss Undyne, you really do.)

(You just don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s right.)

But it’s Mettaton, and he’s clever. He won’t buy your lies, he’ll do something worse – make you confess the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  So you just sigh, and say, “Y-y-yeah. Maybe.”

You hear him clap his hands together and tut, “Alphys, please. I’ve been waiting far too long for this.”

* * *

 

Undyne is allergic to seafood.

(Or uh, something. Something like that.)

It’s actually kinda funny. Because she really seems to want to eat it, when you’re on your not-date alone together, and you’re just chewing through your own dish like it’s nothing.

She probably senses you’re trying not to laugh though, because her one visible, deep brown eye snaps up to look at you and she sort-of glares, sort-of blushes. Whatever it is, it’s really cute. Even if she is the local heroine, you’ve discovered that Undyne can truly be all kinds of cute.

As seen on your current not-date, as she not-so-subtly flips a spoonful of fish onto the floor and tries to play it off as an accident.  

Actually, maybe it is a date. You just don’t know.

Mettaton had simply forced you into a (much too showy) dress and (much too high) heels, pushed you out the door and yelled, “You’re dressed, you’re fabulous, now go get her, darling!”

You do look somewhat nice though, if you have to say anything about this itchy, uncomfortable set of clothing. Or less clunky than usual, which helps.

At least you feel like you’re kinda worth sitting within a 15-meter radius of Undyne, if that’s anything to feel good about. Your teeth sink into a leaf of cabbage, and you try not to pull a face.  

Undyne looks worried about something, but you really can’t tell what. If anything, she kinda looks constipated, and she’s staring you down pretty hard. Date or not-date, you wonder if she’s going to finally tell you that she thinks you’re useless, just like everyone else does.

You busy yourself with watching her crooked front teeth bite down on her gorgeously red lips, and try not to overthink things.  

“Your uh, er, your,” she suddenly starts (ever so eloquently), gesturing wildly with her hands. “Your outfit. It looks different. From your usual. Stuff. Style. Stuff. It’s nice! It’s pre- you’re pretty. Shit. Yeah. You’re pretty… uh, shitty. I said your fashion sense is shitty!” She starts turning red and spoons rice into her mouth to shut herself up. You think she bites so hard she may have dented the spoon.

But your brain just short-circuited so you wouldn’t know anyway.

Pretty, shitty, who cares? Undyne said something to _you_ , about _you,_ directly to _your face_. You could die happy now, with no regrets.

“T-th-thank you…? You are, you too,” You say, not even knowing what garbage is leaving your mouth. “You, nice, you look. You look great. You uh, you always look great. You’re like walking greatness. I love you.”

And now you’ve gone and done it.

You’re broken Undyne.

Had her skin not been so dark, you’d think she’d be as red as her hair by this point. But she hides it well, if not for the sputtering. “Hahaha,” she laughs obnoxiously loudly, slamming her fist on the table, “Funny joke, Alphys! Hahaha! That’s hilarious! I’m laughing so hard!”

“It’s er, not a joke.”

You know, because your stupid mouth can’t be stopped.

Undyne falls silent again.

She panics, she puts something in her mouth, and the night ends with you calling emergency services because you think she’s dying, and you hold her hand and everything. You sob and blame yourself for being the cause, and when she’s perfectly fine the next day, Mettaton laughs his ass off and tells you you’re a mess.

* * *

 

And if you weren’t a mess before, you are now.

You’ve completely lost track of your goal, too busy trying to avoid Undyne when she asks you what you meant that one time when you said ‘I love you’, and when you’re actually forced to communicate with her, it’s hard to maintain eye contact. She’s a very attractive lady, after all, and you are very, very gay.

You’d think this sidestepping would never stop – or that you’d tire of it. But you’re more anxious than you are patient, and your stupid anxiety wins out every single time.

You convince yourself that you’re still a cool kid because you still hang out with Mettaton, and the ‘skeleton’ brothers sometimes visit for fun. Sometime between now and the last time you saw them, they picked up some kid from somewhere. Their name is Frisk. You don’t pay them very much attention, apart from noting that they are rather determined when they get their mind set on something.

Sans may or may not have set Frisk’s mind on getting you and Undyne together.

You curse Sans.

But then you also thank him.

Because god knows you would never have had the guts to face Undyne after clinging to her and crying because you thought she was on the verge of death, and oh gosh, is it really as bad as it sounds? Probably. Knowing you, it was worse.

Maybe the worst thing you’ve ever done.

Frisk shakes their head. They point to a tattoo on your arm, which reads, _“It’s get better”_ and you cringe just a little because you had forgotten about that.

Not that was probably the worst thing you’ve ever done.

“Okay,” you say, as Frisk gives you a determined fist pump. “I can… I can do this. I’m ready.”

“You were born ready,” Mettaton chirps, from some impossible yoga position on the couch. You shield Frisk’s eyes. He needs to stop.

You turn on the television, hoping it will keep the child distracted as you go through your deep breathing exercises. You need them before you face Undyne.  

“I gotta take Frisk home soon.” Sans says eventually, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s now or never, chump.”

You make the call.

… yes. By phone. Because you’re a coward. You’ve established that. Everybody knows that already.

And Frisk has written you a script, so you just read it out, cheesy lines and all.

Somehow, and you have no idea how, your most coherent sentence to Undyne is;

“There are plenty of fish in the sea, but you’re the only one I’d like to catch and mount back at my place.”

Needless to say, you’re sort of mortified. But Frisk gives you a double thumbs-up and you think maybe you’re okay.

Also Undyne, on the other end, sounds like she’s breaking things.

“Papyrus! Don’t give yourself a concussion!” You hear her yell, and it follows with a loud whoop and the sound of something else shattering to pieces. “But uh, that _was_ pretty awesome. Yeah, good job! Do it again!”

Sans, who is in the room with you mutters a quiet yet amused, “So that’s where he went.”

“Sorry, oh my god, friendship is wild,” Undyne mumbles into the phone, after a full minute of things being destroyed in the background. “But hey, you can catch and mount me anytime, babe, you know I’ll be there.”

“… I’m sorry, _what_?”

“I’ve been waiting for your call. … also, I’m trying to be smooth. Shut up. It’s lame, but you started it.”

You slowly trudge to find a chair, because you don’t think your heart can handle this anymore.

“Undyne…”

“There are, uh… better ways to do this. You do realize this, right, Alphys?”

Mettaton makes a whirring noise in the background that you can’t quite comprehend, but you turn and glare at him anyway, mouthing ‘don’t even start’.

He raises his arms in a gesture of surrender, and mouths ‘go get her, Alphys’ right back to you.

“Can I…” you start off quiet, gradually growing louder as you think maybe, just _maybe_ Undyne will give you a chance. You’re not all that perceptive when it comes to these things, but you’ve watched a lot of anime, and that counts, right? “Can I come over? Right now? I-if that’s okay, of course.”

“Yeah, I’ll kick Paps out.” Undyne replies with a snap of her fingers. “He needs to be back for dinner anyway, because he wants to be the one making it.”

Clearly, Sans is eavesdropping, because suddenly he grabs Frisk by the shoulders and starts steering the child out the door. “Whoops, looks like we overstayed our welcome. Time to go home.”

You nod at him, and they let themselves out, even though Frisk looks like they want to protest.  

Your heart thunders wildly, as you follow them out the door, intending to head in an entirely different direction. Mettaton winks at you one more time before you shut the door. You’re almost glad. At least you know he’ll still be there if you come home crying.

You slap your cheeks. No way. You can’t be negative at a time like this! You have a girlfriend to go and get!

Or, you know, the other way around is nice, too.

Because when you ring Undyne’s doorbell (noting her freshly broken window that you could just as easily have jumped through), she flies out and kisses you, before zooming up to full height and wiping sweat from her forehead. Yep. You’re dead now. Undyne killed you.

“You took too long,” she complains, hands on her hips just so she looks as tough as usual, despite her obvious embarrassment. Her ponytail bounces as she moves her head from side to side, glancing at you in between each turn as if waiting for a response.

You take your sweet time.

Undyne just kissed you. You were literally just kissed by Undyne at her front door.

You cannot believe this.

You’re having a tiny gay heart attack, and it’s all her fault.

She probably sees something in your eyes, because she suddenly leaps back. “W-what’s with that look?” She asks, “Was that bad? Did I step out of line?”

“You… didn’t ask…” You answer weakly, but it doesn’t even matter. You needed that kiss like you needed air. And you also want it again. “Do it again, but properly.”

She complies.

(Not before she asks, “Is this really okay? You’re okay with this?”)

(You roll your eyes, and in a brief bout of confidence, say, “Obviously.”)

Her hands tangle in your hair, and your arms wrap around her neck and you meet halfway, lips touching gently, and then not-so-gently. Undyne is intense in most fields, and well, uh, kissing isn’t any different.

You think that maybe you don’t deserve this. But maybe you don’t care.

If you’re not gonna be the hero, you’re gonna smooch the hero, and that’s the next best thing anyway.

Besides, you’re not the kind of person that people will look at and think ‘that’s a hero’. But Undyne is. Maybe that's what attracted you to her in the first place.

“Aren’t you silly, Alphy?” She grins into your hair, and you think _oh no, did I say that out loud?_ Undyne seems to notice your sudden shift in mood, which is certainly a first (don’t tell her that, you love her anyway), and shakes her head, lifting you high, high up in her arms. “You are a hero, Alphy! You’ve always been your own kind of hero, you know!”

And you want to cry and kiss her at the same time, because that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to you. From someone as tactless as Undyne, it’s almost a miracle.

It’s exactly what you want to hear.

“R-really? You think so?” You ask, holding yourself snug against her chest when she brings you back down.

Undyne sputters, and goes a little red, but her signature grin still crosses her face. “I know so, Alphy. My little hero.”

You are so in love.


End file.
